Cyberpunk Patriarch - Chapter 125: The Farmer and the Snake Always Take Turns

A Young woman dies on her trip to Japan in the most anticlimactic way possible, buried by a pile of manga, light novels, and even lewd doujin after an earthquake. In her last moments, all the wishes she has suddenly become reality and materialize in all sorts of Special Abilities before she finds herself reincarnated into a corpse!

Wait... Why is the corpse not moving? No matter how much she tries, it doesn't move, she's not even a zombie or something!

Wait... Why is she stuck with the unmoving corpse? The corpse is actually not part of her anymore!

Wait... Why is she not a physical being? Her hands are translucent, and so is her entire “new” body!

“Ah... I am a ghost?!”

Accompany Maria as she survives as a ghost in a brand new and unwelcoming world, raises her own skeleton as her friend, and seeks the truth behind her second life’s death and how exactly she turned into a ghost.

Not only will she have Phantasmal Powers and Dark Magic, but even the ability to raise her own Undead Army! Will anything be able to stand before her path for revenge?

After choking to death on a watermelon, Rong Jiahui thought that she would enter the netherworld and be reincarnated.

But when she opened her eyes, she discovered, to her very horror, that she had returned twelve years into the past…

Looking at the beautiful and awkward “little brother” that would be conferred the title of Marshal in the future for outstanding military service, she almost let out a snort of laughter.

She firmly decided to hug the thigh of this little brother, and climb to the top of her life!

The plan was beautiful, but it had just one problem.

Why had this little brother… suddenly turned into…

A little sister…

- Description from Novelupdates

Religious and cultural schisms wreak havoc on its internal politics, while revolutions are brewing in neighboring kingdoms. The aristocratic houses play endless power games amongst themselves, and the Emperor desperately abuses what little influence he has left to keep his rivals down.Amidst all of this, Arnold von Hohenfels, first son of the Margrave of Hohenfels, finds himself in the unfortunate position of having to attend the Imperial Academy, a notorious battleground of wits and brawn for ambitious young nobles.Armed with a magical gift that is as much a blessing as it is a curse, he must learn to navigate the treacherous waters of aristocratic entanglements. In the name of his family’s ambition, he must represent House Hohenfels' interests in this microcosm of Imperial politics, deal with his formidable enemies, form alliances of his own, and somehow keep his brash cousin Friedrich out of trouble.Frankly, he would much rather be anywhere else.

“Villains aren’t born, they’re made...blah...blah...”Cute quote. Stick it on your Tumblr header next to your anime pfp.You boys love your villain stories, don’t you?You want carnage. Chaos. Control. You want a dark throne, a cold smirk, and a woman kneeling at your feet begging for mercy.But you?You don’t want to lift a damn finger.You’ll cheer for the villain as he kills a god, but cry when he gets betrayed.You call it “plot armor” when the hero survives—but call it “art” when the villain does the impossible.You’re not fans of villains.You’re fetishists.You want the violence, but not the silence after it.You want domination, but not the burden of being hated.You want power, but only if the story forgives you for it.You don’t read these stories to understand evil.You read them because you think you're too good to win the normal way.“Villains don’t play fair.”Exactly. That’s why you love them.Because you wouldn’t last a day in a world where strength mattered and excuses didn’t.You don’t want a villain’s life.You want his results.You want to watch him burn the world for a woman.But you’d cry if a girl left you on read.So tell me—What exactly are you rooting for?At least unlike you, I support heroes—the ones with boobs.You know the type.Tits squeezed into latex, thighs tight in spandex, preaching virtue with cum-drunk eyes the moment they fall into my arms but always end up screaming my name instead.She flies above cities, saving lives like it’s her job.But at night? She crashes into my arms, trembling, moaning, clawing at my back like I’m the only real thing she’s ever touched.Her cape drops before her guard does.But I don't need to tear it off.She hands it over herself—bit by bit, kiss by kiss, lie by beautiful lie.You ever felt a heroine's breath hitch in your ear as she begs you to stop pretending you're the bad guy?Ever watched the symbol of hope ride you like you're the last man left after the world ended?That's not conquest.That’s devotion, baby.Unfiltered. Undeniable.And the irony?They fall the hardest.Because no villain ever tried to understand them. No hero ever dared to see past the shine and into the ache beneath.But I do.I whisper into the cracks of their perfection.I plant kisses where they hide their pain.I fuck them where they forget to wear their strength.And when they break—when their moans turn to prayers, when their strength melts into submission—That’s when I rise.I’m not just some brooding misfit out for revenge, or a misunderstood loner sitting around hoping for a shot at redemption.I’m not a villain.I’m the SUPERVILLAIN—the kind your heroines moan for when the cameras are off and the capes are crumpled on my floor.